


It's A Wonderful Cliche

by Miso



Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Character Death In Dream, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's a Wonderful Life, M/M, its fluffy and cute at the end i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: Floyd has an interesting dream. It's very familiar.





	It's A Wonderful Cliche

**Author's Note:**

> everyone has seen this movie at least once and i thought it would work well for floyd. :P irwin is whoever you want him to be but i just needed someone almost as sarcastic as floyd. (if i revisit this i promise it'll be a little more in depth! this was mostly a silly idea i couldnt get out of my head.)

It hadn't been this bad in a long, long time. Floyd tossed and turned in bed, staring at the empty space beside him and trembling. Of all the nights to have a breakdown, it had to be the night Earl had to spend over at the station. He didn't even remember why. A telethon, or something? Why hadn't Caballero asked them both? Was Earl really the indispensable one? He thought he was the one that Caballero would drop to his knees and suck off if he ever threatened to leave. Earl getting the recognition he deserved didn't bother him, but the idea of being replaced, of not being good enough... fuck. He shuddered and pulled the blankets tighter around himself.

He'd spent the last three hours crying and drinking and crying some more. He'd been doing so well on staying sober, but something about wanting to kill himself drove him back to his old friend Jack Daniels. Floyd had scratched his arms raw and picked bloody spots onto them and thrown up most of the booze he consumed over the course of the evening. The pain and adrenaline rush that followed were enough to numb him for just a bit, give him something to focus on besides how tired and lonely he was, but it never lasted long.

What would happen to him if SCTV News didn't need him anymore? He couldn't get another job anywhere else. No one else would hire an openly gay alcoholic that dealt with Vietnam flashbacks on a daily basis. Earl would probably leave him if he couldn't get another job. He knew he'd just get worse without him around; hell, Earl was half the reason he got out of bed most mornings. If he didn't have someone who actually gave a shit about him around... why bother? And then he'd drink more (again) and have to move back to Denver (again) and live with his parents (again) and probably get the shit beaten out of him by his father at the age of forty-fucking-years-old because no one is going to hit an old man back. A sob tore through him, kicking off wave number 2 of crying, crying so bad he felt and sounded like a hurt, scared child.

He didn't know when he cried himself to sleep, only that he evidently did. He eventually jerked awake when someone violently shook him by the shoulder and yelled "Wake up!" Half-asleep and still a little bit buzzed, he couldn't place the voice. All he knew was it wasn't a familiar one. No crowing laughter- not Lola Heatherton or Bobby Bittman. No Southern twang- not Sammy Maudlin. No ass-kissing in the first few seconds- not William B. Williams. No slurring- not Johnny LaRue. No calling him an asshole in a well-meaning way- not Falbo. And no concern or tenderness- definitely not Earl.

Floyd groaned and sat up in bed slowly, yawning. "Th'fuck...?" He blinked sleep out of his exhausted, puffy eyes and tried to focus. A tall and thin man stood in front of him, shiny white teeth all Floyd could clearly make out. "... Who are you and why are you in my house?"

"I'm your guardian angel."

"... You're shitting me." Floyd sighed and turned over to go back to sleep. "Just shoot me and take my valuables. Get it over with."

"They did say you'd be difficult." The blankets were yanked off of Floyd. "Come on, get up!"

Floyd groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. "Just a nice little squeeze of the trigger on the back of my head. Make it look like a suicide if you want, I don't give a shit."

"I'm seriously not here to rob you. Come on, get up." Mystery Man laid a hand between Floyd's shoulder blades. "You know your boyfriend is worried about you?"

"Oh, what, did he _pray for me_?" Floyd's tone was mocking and sing-song on the last three words. "What is this, some hokey Christmas picture?"

"We know about the similarities, alright? Listen, my name is Irwin. It's nice to meet you, but I understand you've had some... problems?"

"Fuck off."

"I'm taking that as a yes." Irwin crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. "I have a job to do, here, buddy."

Floyd heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever." He pulled himself out of bed. "Let me guess, what life would be like if I never existed."

"Well, that's one thing the movie got wrong." Irwin's green eyes glimmered for a moment, like he was laughing about something internally. "It's more along the lines of if you went through with it."

"With what?"

"Come on, you think we didn't see how you looked at those knives earlier?"

"..." Shit. Maybe this guy wasn't fucking with him. "You're starting to creep me out."

"Yeah, a lot of people say that." Irwin smirked. "You ready?"

"Um. Sure, I guess." Floyd waved his hand in a 'get on with it' sort of gesture. "Show me."

"Very well."

A sharp gust of air blew past him, and Floyd shut his eyes and shielded his face with his arm. Once the breeze stopped, he lowered his arm and opened his eyes. "... What changed?" he asked, glancing around the room. It was still his bedroom, in the middle of the night. The only obvious difference was his side of the bed was made.

"Wait."

As if on cue, the door opened. Earl stumbled in, clearly exhausted, and collapsed into bed without even taking his glasses or shoes off. He rubbed his temples, eyes closed.

"... Okay, it's my boyfriend."

"Look a little closer."

Floyd quirked an eyebrow and leaned in closer to Earl. He noticed the little differences, then. He looked old, alarmingly old. Older than he actually was. His hair was beginning to gray at the roots, silver peeking into a sea of midnight, he looked like he hadn't shaved in days, and fine lines had formed at the corners of his eyes and mouth, deeper wrinkles having appeared across his forehead. The bags and dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep either couldn't be covered with makeup or he didn't bother to anymore.

"Why's he look so...?"

Irwin gave Floyd a slightly scathing glare. "Why do you think?"

"Oh." Floyd sighed a little and sat down on his side of the bed. "... Can he hear us?"

"No. As far as he's concerned, we're nonexistent."

Floyd watched Earl for a bit longer. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally moved, taking off his glasses and placing a hand on Floyd's side of the bed. Floyd shuddered a little to see Earl's hand pass through him entirely. Was he really dead right now? Was this not some cuckoo bananas fucked up dream?

And then he heard a soft, choked sob. Floyd looked down at Earl and tensed to see him crying. He tried to scoot to the side and place his hand on Earl's, forgetting for a moment that he currently lacked a corporeal form. He gave Irwin a desperate look, begging him for some kind of help, only to be met with a solemn "No."

Earl sobbed helplessly, clutching the quilt desperately. He choked out some incomprehensible words- at least, Floyd thought they were words- before more distinctly saying "Why didn't you tell me?!" Earl gripped the blankets, white-knuckling them. He screamed, wordlessly, and Floyd backed away from the bed.

"... Wh-what's-"

"He's still hurting. The wound is raw."

"When did-"

"Three months ago as of tonight." Irwin pushed his hands into his pockets (angels wore regular street clothes?). "He's been desperately looking for work since your boss fired him. He's doing whatever he can now."

"Fired?!"

"No one wanted to watch him alone. And the new reporters Caballero brought in didn't have the same chemistry with him." Irwin shrugged. "So he was let go. He's only kept the house with help from his parents, but their generosity will only go so far."

"But..."

"Oh, and as for the news, they're nowhere near as credible now. You should see what Mayor Shanks is getting away with now that neither of you are around to call him out. It's mostly fluff pieces and celebrity gossip now."

"What... but...?"

"You're worth a lot more to your boss than you realize." Irwin took his hands from his pockets. "Is this enough to-"

"Yes!" Floyd exclaimed, gripping Irwin's shoulders. "God, we don't need to go through the entire plot of the movie, man, I get it, I won't hurt myself!"

"That's the fastest turnaround I've ever seen." Irwin smiled a little. "Very well. You'll return to the waking world in a bit. I hope you understand what I was trying to say." He pressed a hand to Floyd's chest, wordlessly, and everything faded to black.

When Floyd woke again, the sky was pink with the first light of dawn and the other side of the bed was occupied. He turned over, half-asleep, and smiled at the sight of Earl, crashed beside him. He hadn't had time to get his clothes off. Shoes were as far as he'd gotten. His suit was a rumpled mess and his glasses were askew on his face.

Floyd couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief and wrapped his arms around Earl's waist, kissing his forehead. Earl stirred slightly and murmured, "Nnngh, what?" in that adorable hoarse morning voice Floyd loved.

"Hey." Floyd smiled at his boyfriend warmly, pulling him in tight. "I missed you last night. So much." Earl, clearly a little bit confused, merely leaned into Floyd's touch in response. "... It was kind of a rough night."

"Mmnh." Earl was still tired and he yawned slightly as Floyd spoke. "Sorry... m'sleepy."

"... Should I wait 'til you're more awake...?"

"Mm-mm, not if you..." A pause for a much larger yawn. "Need to get it off your chest..." Earl nuzzled into Floyd's chest. "M'gonna stay right here, though."

"Alright." Floyd smiled a little bit and made sure his grip on Earl was tight before continuing. "I had a really weird dream. Like that movie you make me watch every Christmas but lamer. I just... all I saw was you. It was more than enough."

"Mmm?"

"I guess I killed myself or something, I don't know... but you were a wreck. I just... it broke my heart to see you like that. You reminded me of... well, me." Floyd tangled his legs with Earl's. "And... and I just want you to know how much I love you."

"Love you, too." Earl was already falling back to sleep. "M'glad you're here. You're warm an' you smell nice. Even if you did fall off the wagon a lil' bit last night." Earl sighed happily and closed his eyes fully. "Can I go back to sleep...?"

"... How did you know I...?"

"You left the bottle downstairs." Earl managed to slide his glasses off and place them on his nightstand. "It's okay. Can't expect you to be perfect. Try again tomorrow."

Floyd was quiet, but he felt his heart swell. Every time he fucked up, Earl just loved him more. God, what had he done to deserve him? He nuzzled into Earl's hair and sighed quietly, contentedly. He closed his eyes and dozed back off to the sound of Earl snoring quietly beside him.

The rest of his dreams were pleasant, but one in particular clung to his memory. He and Earl sat on a beach at sunset, gazing out over the water, wrapped around each other like anchors in a storm. Floyd rested his chin atop Earl's head and held him close.

In the distance, he swore he saw a familiar curly-headed figure with glittering eyes and a pearly white smile unfurl a pair of feathered wings and ascend into the sky after giving him a sage nod.


End file.
